


Choices

by AMidnightDreary



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attraction, Banter, Depressed Loki (Marvel), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Has Issues, Explicit Consent, Falling In Love, Feels, Gift Giving, Hedonism, Human Loki (Marvel), Intimacy, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki Gets a Hug (Marvel), Loki's Punishments (Marvel), Lonely Loki (Marvel), Luxury, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Possessive Behavior, Post-Avengers (2012), Poverty, Protective Tony Stark, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Sort of enemies to friends to lovers but the enemies phase is already over at the beginning, Suits, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony just gets off on spoiling Loki and Loki gets off on being spoiled, Touch-Starved, a touch of sugar daddy stuff but not really?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29999607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMidnightDreary/pseuds/AMidnightDreary
Summary: It starts with a pair of sunglasses. Then there's a scarf and then gloves and suits andcompany, and even though Loki still hates being human he has to admit that Stark makes it better in a multitude of ways.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 116





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rabentochter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabentochter/gifts).



> It's not your birthday yet so I won't wish you a happy birthday, instead I'll just say that you're amazing and I'm so happy and thankful you're my friend. That's all.
> 
> There'll be another (more explicit) chapter soon...ish. I don't have a lot of time to write at the moment so it might take a while, but I'll try my best! Enjoy ❤

They were friends. Or at least Loki thought so; he could never really tell with things like this, mostly because he had never had a proper friend before. It wasn't like they met up twice a week for tea - was that a thing friends did? - but they did speak now and then, if always on the phone. Loki was sure that it had been nothing but mandatory surveillance calls in the beginning, but by now it felt like they were… well, still mandatory surveillance calls, but also a little more than that. Surveillance calls didn’t need to last a full hour, after all. Maybe they weren’t friends in the actual sense of the word, but Loki found himself unable to come up with another description.

He ended the call and looked down at his phone, thoughtful. He wondered what Stark was up to in the moment; it was the middle of the night. Almost 1am, in fact. Perhaps he just hadn’t been able to sleep. If so, that was a feeling Loki could very much relate to.

He put his phone on the kitchen counter, then he made himself another cup of tea and carried it across the room to the sofa. He still wasn’t quite used to navigating these rooms, even though there were only three of them. Four, if you counted the tiny supply closet, which Loki didn’t. He sat down on the sofa but didn’t make himself comfortable, because he didn’t feel like trying to make himself comfortable; it wouldn’t work, anyway. The apartment was dead silent, but outside the city was still as alive as it always was. His ears weren’t nearly as good anymore as they had been his whole life - that together with his now human and therefore incredibly bad eyesight made everything seem so dull now -, but he could hear the occasional car pass by, and there were people shouting at each other on the other side of the street, a couple that had nothing better to do than disturb their neighbors’ nighttime peace with one of their quarrels. It was the fourth fight this week, and just like the earlier three times Loki silently hoped that one of them would put an end to their miserable excuse of a relationship soon. It was clearly doomed to fail. Not that Loki knew all too much about relationships, but he did know a lot about failure. 

This was where he had landed: a small living room with a kitchen nook, a worn out sofa, a stove that only worked after a lot of probing and cursing. A bedroom, the wallpaper torn in several places, a saggy mattress. Some things in the bathroom Loki hadn’t dared yet to look too closely at. Stark had been right, in the end; Loki had not come out on top.

With a sigh, he leaned against the backrest and drew up his knees. It was October in Midgard and already very cold, and he was freezing. He hadn’t really known what freezing even was until he’d been turned human. He would have turned on the heating, but it had stopped working last week, either because it had broken or because they had turned it off since he hadn’t managed to pay the latest bill. The latter was more likely. Thankfully, the tea was warm enough to unstiffen his fingers. Small mercies. 

He couldn’t sleep, either, and for a moment he considered calling Stark to continue their conversation, only that he couldn’t really remember what they had been talking about. Stark always did the most of the talking, and Loki didn’t always listen. Having the voice of another living being in his ear was enough, it distracted him from the cold and the fury and the hunger, gods, the hunger. 

Loki didn’t call Stark. Instead, he stayed sitting there for hours and worked on digesting the fact that he was poor. It was an unwelcome thought, one that he had pushed away again and again in the last weeks. He’d never had to worry about money. He had grown up as a prince, after all, and after he had fallen his body had had more pressing things to worry about than hunger. A Jotun could go without food and water for a very long time, he had learned. A human body was different; it couldn’t survive on tea alone. He had been here for six months now - it had been warm and sunny when he had started his punishment, entered his exile, and they had been kind enough to give him a few things so that he could find his footing. This apartment, a set of clothes and a decently stocked kitchen, some documents humans seemed to consider necessary, a mobile phone, and a bit of money in a bank account Loki hadn’t known how to access at first. He had asked Stark about it when he had called for the first time, and he could still hear the way Stark had been silent for a few seconds before he had explained it all, slowly and calmly, some important things twice to make sure that Loki had understood. He hadn’t even mocked Loki about it, which Loki had been, regrettably, thankful for.

The money was gone now, and although Loki knew how humans acquired more of it, it had turned out to be quite the task. Midgard wasn’t kind to the poor, and finding a job he was willing to do had proven impossible. He probably needed to lower his standards, but at this point he thought that it would be better to starve than lose the little bit of dignity he had left. So hunger it was, at least until he would manage to steal supplies for a full, proper meal again - stealing wasn’t as easy as it had been before, now that he was without magic -, but hunger was bearable. He’d never felt a hunger quite like this, but still, bearable. What worried him much more was the rent. When things continued as they had, he would freeze to death in a dark alley of New York, homeless and cold, covered in snow. 

The thought almost seemed fitting.

x

Loki went for a walk the next morning. He stole a wallet and bought as many of the cheapest packs of rice he could afford, then he went back to the apartment - he refused to call it home; nobody would call their prison cell home - with a hint of lightness to his step. The thought of food, however bland it tasted, was a good one.

He checked his mailbox before he went inside, because Stark had told him that doing so was also something humans considered important, even though Stark hadn’t sounded all too interested in it himself. Loki had lost interest pretty soon, too, since the letters he got were exclusively from people who were under the impression that he did not give them enough money. It was very rude, but Loki collected the letters on a steadily growing pile on the coffee-stained sofa table. They were yet another reminder of yet another failure, and he quite liked looking at them.

When he saw that a white envelope was sticking out of the slit of his mailbox, he thought that he would soon add another letter to his pile, but this one looked different. Someone had scribbled his name - a fake last name, of course - and address on it by hand, the writing quick and bold, but unhurried. Loki kept looking down at it while he brought it up the stairs. In the apartment, the first thing he did was put a pot on the stove to cook some of the rice, not as much as he wanted to eat; that wasn’t a luxury he could afford.

He leaned against the counter and opened the envelope. His eyebrows raised almost all the way to his hairline when he saw the money. Five bills, each of them a hundred. There was a card, too, with the same handwriting that had been on the envelope.

_Heard you were in a bit of a rough spot. Bills are paid for the next two months. Use this to stock up on food and get a damn job._

_TS_

Loki blinked slowly and then reached for his phone that was still lying on the counter. He only had one number saved, and it didn’t take long until Stark picked up.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t require alms,” Loki said.

“You’re very welcome, Loki,” Stark replied dryly. 

“I am also not in a rough spot.”

“No? Your bank account told me something very different.”

Loki frowned. “You have access to my bank account.”

“I can have access to every bank account in the world if I want to.”

“Oh, I see,” Loki said, arching a brow. “Is that how you became as rich as you are?”

“No, that’s how I help fallen gods in need who refuse to get a job.”

“If that is something you enjoy, feel free to transfer more to my bank account. Given that you already have access to it, it would only be practical.”

“Get a job,” Stark said.

“I stole a wallet this morning.”

“I think you and I define the word ‘job’ very differently.”

“I simply refuse to make other people coffee. Or serve them food. Or clean public restrooms.”

Stark sighed. There was a sound of something metallic in the background; he was probably working. Loki was used to the noises by now. “Okay,” Stark said. “Time for plan B.”

“What is plan B?”

“Get off your high horse,” Stark explained, “and then get a job.”

Loki echoed his sigh. “I’m not fond of plan B.”

“Nobody is, but I’m afraid it’s how it works. And anyway, plan C is getting thrown out of your apartment and freezing to death, would that be better?”

“Perhaps,” Loki said, thinking back to the image his thoughts had painted in the night. He believed that Stark could see it, too.

Stark was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, he sounded a little less provocative. “You do have a choice here, you know. Earth isn’t as bad as you think it is.”

“Earth is a shithole,” Loki said, taking the money out of the envelope.

“Wow,” Stark said flatly. “Such language. You’ve been going native, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been forced to.”

“Do you have something to eat?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Stark said. “Call if you need anything else.”

He hung up. Confused and annoyed by the sudden end of the conversation, Loki huffed and set his phone aside. He turned back to the stove and decided to cook a little more of the rice. He also put the money into his new wallet.

x

Sadly, Stark was right. Again. By January, Loki had eaten so many cans of baked beans that he was willing to do almost anything for the chance to eat something else. In Asgard, he had eaten three full meals every day, could have eaten more if he had wanted to, and of course it felt like that had been eons ago, but Loki remembered, and it might be the only thing about Asgard he missed. The comforts. Well, the comforts and all the illusions, although maybe he was better off without the latter. At least he knew who and what he was now, no matter if he liked it or not.

He needed to get a job. It was awfully tedious, that thought, but it was also a fact, so Loki walked through the streets and looked for work. He lived in a rundown part of the city, gray and dirty and filled with people who didn’t look happy to be here, either. Loki stopped in front of a small restaurant and stared at the handwritten sign that had been plastered to the window from the inside. Finally, he sighed and went inside.

x

Two months later, the doorbell rang, and Loki was so surprised that he actually went to open it. He poked his head out into the hallway, torn between suspicion and excitement, because any distraction was a welcome one at this point. It didn’t take long until an all too familiar man came up the stairs, dressed in a coat that looked warmer than everything Loki owned. It wasn’t as cold anymore as it had been a month or two ago, but Loki froze easily now.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, frowning.

“What does it look like?” Stark asked, his hands in the pockets of his coat, and brushed past Loki into the apartment.

Loki rolled his eyes and followed him, closing the door. Stark stopped in the middle of the living room. He was wearing a ridiculous pair of sunglasses that hid his eyes behind orange-tinted glass, so Loki couldn’t be sure if his bright grin reached his eyes or not.

“Well, if this isn’t the most depressing place I’ve ever seen,” Stark said, looking around the room. “Not really your style, huh?”

“I wasn’t given a choice in the matter.”

“Are you saving up to move?”

Loki didn’t deem that worthy of an answer, mostly because he didn’t want to admit that the money he earned in the restaurant wasn’t even enough to cover the bills and his other needs. That was ridiculous, because Loki was certain that Stark knew. He’d been keeping very close track of his finances in the last weeks, and he hadn’t missed the small amounts of money that had appeared in his account, seemingly out of nowhere. There was only one place - one person - where it could come from, so Loki knew that Stark had been making sure that Loki would get by. It was odd, but Loki wasn’t about to complain. In fact, he was very set on not mentioning it at all.

“What are you doing here?” he asked again.

“Let’s go for a drive.”

Loki stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“A drive,” Stark repeated and turned to Loki, still grinning. “How often do you leave this house, huh? Except for work?”

“I take walks now and then.”

“You go out to steal stuff, you mean.”

“Have you been surveilling me?”

“If that’s a surprise for you, I’m disappointed.” Stark’s grin turned into a smirk. “Are you coming or not?”

Loki sighed and went to get his jacket. He put it on and also threw the only scarf he owned over his shoulders. The fabric was rough and patchy, nothing compared to the smooth silk he had worn around his neck in Stuttgart. Loki hated it, hated looking like this, dressed in old, ugly clothes that had been handed down to him by someone who hadn't cared about him the slightest. Nick Fury and his minions were probably surveilling him, too, and snickering at the sight he made. _How are the mighty fallen._ Loki had read the bible because some kind woman with a too bright smile had handed it out to passersby on the street without demanding anything in return. It was the only book Loki had been and was able to afford.

"Is that warm enough?"

Loki turned to glare at Stark, who stood right next to him, waiting. 

"What?" Stark shrugged. "It's cold outside, for March."

Stark didn't have a scarf at all, and his cheeks and the tips of his nose and ears were pink from the cold. Seeing him was odd. They talked regularly on the phone, but the last time they had spoken face to face had been… yes. In Stark's tower. A few days after that Loki had seen Stark in Central Park, and when Odin had dropped him on Midgard again, Stark had been there, too, but they hadn't exchanged a single word. As long as he'd been just a voice in Loki's ear, it had been easy to ignore that Stark was actually his enemy, and not his friend. _Friends._ Thinking that had been naive, and it still was.

"I will be fine," Loki said, and Stark shrugged and accepted it.

They left the apartment and walked down the stairs without saying anything. Stark had parked his car right in front of the building, and it looked so ridiculously out of place that Loki approved of it immediately. It was a convertible, bright red and flashy, the rims golden. Despite the cold, the hood of it was down, allowing Loki to see the leather seats that looked so much more comfortable than the sofa in the apartment. He didn't know much about cars, but he recognized splendor when he saw it.

"You're lucky it wasn't stolen," he said dryly, stopping on the sidewalk.

Stark snorted. "Anyone who tries touching my car without my permission would be lucky to get away unscathed."

Possessive. Loki couldn't blame him, if he had owned something as nice as this, he would have been possessive as well. Then again, and Stark probably had a dozen more cars waiting where this had come from. 

"You want to stand there and stare all day?"

Stark had already walked around the car and now stood on the street, unbothered by the cars that drove past him. Loki looked at him, keeping his expression blank.

"Are you going to drive me to your tower, or to SHIELD?"

"What?"

"Either way, if I am to spend the rest of my mortal life in a prison cell, I would like to go back upstairs and fetch some things first."

Stark rolled his eyes and opened the car door. "Just get into the car, Rock of Ages."

Loki got into the car. He didn't think that Stark would actually drive him to a prison cell - the disadvantages would outweigh the satisfaction it might have given him -, but still, being alone with an Avenger wasn't exactly comfortable.

"Where are we driving, then?" Loki asked, watching as Stark started the car.

"Just a bit inland," Stark answered with a shrug. "I know you haven't gotten out of the city in months. Hell, you don't even leave your apartment. It's not healthy, you know."

"And of course you are very concerned about my health," Loki drawled. "Do the others know that you're here? Or about the money?"

"No," Stark said.

He wasn't lying. That was the only talent Loki had kept, because it had never had anything to do with magic; he was very good at telling when somebody was lying.

Loki frowned at him. "Why not?"

"They don't need to. And if your big brother knew that you're here, he'd be all over you, and I doubt that you want that."

"He doesn't know?" Loki asked, surprised.

Stark shook his head. "He begged your daddy to tell him, but Odin refused because, and I quote, 'Loki shall be on his own now'. Fury knows where you are, of course, but because he doesn't want to break his deal with Odin, he didn't tell Thor, either, and he won't. As far as Thor knows, you could be anywhere on this planet." A pause. "He's looking for you with the help of Jane Foster."

 _Jane Foster._ It sounded like Thor had gotten what he wanted. Loki scoffed and turned away, looking at the row of houses they passed by. Stark had made no move to put the roof up and the airflow was biting cold, but Loki liked feeling it on his face, anyway. After being stuck in one place for so long, the feeling of movement was more than welcome. And besides, it was a nice day - cold, yes, but the seat beneath him was very warm, and the sky was bright and blue, not a cloud in sight. Loki had to lift a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight.

"I don't have a deal with Odin."

Loki squinted at Stark. "Excuse me?"

Stark smiled, just slightly. "I can tell Thor where you are - if you want me to, that is. If you don't want to have him breathing down your neck, I won't say a word."

Loki didn't know what to say for a moment. He wasn't sure what Thor would do if they saw each other again, if he would still be angry or not. Maybe he was only looking for Loki to kill him himself, if so, that was naturally something Loki needed to avoid. (Being killed by the cold was a much better thought than being killed by his brother.) And if Thor wasn't angry anymore, if he wanted to talk and help… gods, that might be worse.

"No," Loki said finally. "Don't tell him."

"Okay," Stark agreed easily.

Loki kept looking at him, confused and irritated because Stark had managed to confuse him, and after a moment Stark flashed him a smile.

"There's another pair in the glovebox, I think," he said, and when Loki just looked at him blankly, he added, "Sunglasses. You don't look comfortable. Or are you cold? I turned on the seat heater, but -"

"I'm fine," Loki told him, annoyed. 

He leaned forward to open the glovebox and did find a pair of glasses, these thankfully less ridiculous than the ones Stark was wearing. Not any less sleek and expensive, though. Loki ran his fingertip along one of the temple stems and then put them on, already wondering how he could get away with stealing them later when Stark was right there next to him. Loki had always had a penchant for the finer things in life, and sitting in this car, watching heads turn and eyebrows raise when they drove past, felt much better than walking these streets like everybody else. It wasn't that he cared about what the humans thought, or that he believed he was above them - it had been made very clear that he wasn't above anything anymore -, but it filled him with a sense of desperate satisfaction he couldn't shake off. _Greed._ Whether he deserved it or not, he wanted something nice for himself. Something nice that he could keep after what felt like years of forced renunciation.

"They suit you," Stark said, his eyes on the street. "You can keep them if you want."

Loki's head whipped around to him, surprised by the tone of Stark’s voice. There was something in it Loki couldn’t quite place. "Keep them?"

"Yeah." Stark was grinning again, crookedly. "You want to. It's alright, I've got dozens at home."

Loki figured that being able to give things away just like that was a luxury on its own. He frowned. "I assume that these cost more than what I earn in a month."

At that, Stark laughed. "Spoken like a true human. I'm proud of you."

Oh. Suddenly, Loki understood, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. "Is that what this is?"

"Hm?"

"Are you _rewarding_ me?"

"What?"

"You said you're proud."

"I was joking."

"You are," Loki said and shook his head, stunned. "All of this - the drive, the glasses, the niceties. You are rewarding me for, what, getting a pesky job and keeping it?"

Stark stayed quiet for a moment, and he didn't look at Loki. Finally, he said, "I didn't think of it that way. I just figured you might want to get away for a bit after working that _pesky job_ of yours. You can keep the glasses because they suit you and I don't need them, and I'm nice because you haven't given me a reason not to be. That's it."

"I invaded your planet."

"You were sent by someone who wanted you to invade my planet."

"I have done things -"

"We've all done things," Stark interrupted, almost sharply. His grin had faded. "People change. You deserve to have a fair chance to change, and I don't want you to get even more bitter and petty because of, you know, all of this."

 _"Petty?"_ Loki repeated.

"Is that what you're concentrating on? Really?" Stark glanced at him, almost exasperated. "Come on, we both know you could still wreak havoc if you wanted to. They took your mojo, sure, but they didn't take your brain cells. It's better for everyone if you have a bit of help, even if Fury and your daddy-dearest don't want you to have anything at all."

"Ah," Loki said, because that made a lot more sense already. That was something he could understand, and even appreciate. "It's about control, then."

The grin returned, but it was more of a smirk now. "People keep telling me that I'm a hell of control freak if I want to be."

"I'm not fond of being controlled," Loki told him. "If you think I will do as you say just because of some money and amenities -"

"I don't expect you to do anything at all," Stark said. "Well, I do want you to not wreak havoc, but I'm not trying to order you around or anything. Just know that I'll be the first to kick your ass if you cause trouble."

Loki rolled his eyes and looked outside. They were about to leave the city.

"I'm just trying to help, Loki."

Loki didn't say anything at first, fighting with himself. Eventually, he said, "I'm not ungrateful."

Stark snorted. He was silent for a while, then he told Loki about the food he had stuffed into the trunk, and that he hoped Loki hadn't had lunch yet.

x

A package was waiting in front of Loki’s door when he came home from work. He looked down at it for a moment, then picked it up and opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t let go of the package while he shrugged out of his jacket and put his scarf away, and after he’d slipped out of his shoes he immediately padded to the sofa and sat down.

He carefully got rid of the brown wrapping paper and revealed a shiny, orange box with an elegant black bow. He put it on his lap and slowly loosened the bow, then lifted the lid to set it aside. The inside was filled with dark gray fabric. Frowning, Loki took it out of the box and unfolded it to see what it was, blinking in surprise when he realized that it was a scarf. It felt much softer than mere wool, and he knew that it would be warmer than the one he owned. There were fringes at both ends, and a black patch on one side that formed an odd symbol Loki couldn’t make sense of, but when he touched it, he noticed that it was leather, doubtlessly real and well-made. He hadn’t touched leather like this since he had been made to take off his armor.

He swallowed thickly and went to look for his phone. He found it in the pocket of his jacket and returned to the sofa, where the scarf was sitting in its box again, waiting. There wasn’t a note this time, but that wasn’t necessary. Loki sat down and called Stark’s number. A few days had passed since they had gone for that drive, and all in all, it had been… pleasant. They got along surprisingly well, at least when they ignored the reason they had met and everything to do with it. 

Stark picked up quickly. “Hi, Lokes. What’s up?”

“Don’t insult me by acting you don’t know. And don’t call me that.”

Stark chuckled, but ignored the last part of Loki’s statement. “That scarf you were wearing looked like it was a few days and a drizzle away from falling apart. I figured you’d like a new one.”

“Why?”

“I just told you.”

"It's almost spring. It will get warmer soon."

"For next fall, then."

“I’m not aware of having done something worthy of another reward.”

“It’s not a reward, Loki, I just felt like it.”

Loki scowled, even though Stark couldn’t even see him. Humans were strange. “Did you choose it yourself?”

“Yeah. Do you like it?”

Loki took the scarf out of the box again and let it slide through his fingers. It was lovely. “Yes,” Loki said. “I suppose you expect me to thank you.”

“You don’t have to.”

There was that strange note in Stark’s voice again, the one Loki couldn’t make sense of. It was too warm, too kind, and a little… Loki couldn’t tell what it was, but it made him narrow his eyes. He had gotten many gifts in his life, most of them given to him because he was a prince and people thought he might be inclined to give them something in return, which he never had. Stark probably expected something in return, too, and Loki suspected that it had something to do with him behaving himself and not causing any trouble Stark and his friends would need to clean up later. But if this was really meant to be a bribe, Stark did it really well. He didn't sound like it was a bribe, not at all, he sounded like he actually _enjoyed -_

Loki hummed, and tried a shot in the dark. "Do you like giving me things, Stark?"

"I feel like it wouldn't be wise to answer that question." Stark didn't sound bothered that Loki was starting to see through him. If anything, he sounded amused.

"Are you wise?"

Stark laughed again. "Yeah," he said then. "Yes, I like it."

Loki had to smile. That was the first good thing he had heard in ages. "Why?"

"Let's say I'm a very generous man, that's all," Stark said. "The details don't matter, really. It's not like you're going to complain. Or are you?"

"No, I don't think so. The scarf is very nice."

"I'm glad you like it."

Not a lie.

See, Loki was two things at heart: an opportunist and a hedonist. And this was very clearly an opportunity for hedonism.

"I could use a pair of gloves to go with it," he said, sure that his smile was audible. "If you'd be so kind."

Stark huffed out a laugh. "That's presumptuous, even for you."

"Do you mind?"

Stark just snorted and ended the call. Loki glared at his phone. "Well, good night to you, too."

He put his phone aside. _Friends,_ he thought again. Were they friends? He wasn't sure, but he knew one thing: he had gotten his fair share of courting gifts in the past, and this felt disturbingly similar.

x

Two days later, Loki received another box, this time containing a pair of black leather gloves that fit him like a second skin. Three days later, Stark called him and they talked; he asked about how Loki's work was going, spoke about the car he was working on, explained the entire plot of a thing called "Star Wars" to Loki simply because Stark had made a reference Loki hadn't understood. They hung up after two and a half hours and hadn't mentioned any gifts at all.

Everything returned to… well, to _normal._ As in, Loki was generally annoyed and miserable, and Stark called every once in a while to make sure that Loki wasn't about to commit either homicide or suicide. Now and then he sent a bit of money Loki's way, but they never acknowledged that when they talked. The entire situation was far from ideal, but Loki had come to the conclusion that, just maybe, it could have been worse. 

At least this prison was much bigger than a cell in Asgard.

x

In late May, something very strange happened: for the first time, Loki was talking instead of just listening, and talking more than just what was necessary to answer Stark's occasional question. It was likely that he had been talking for quite a while now, but he had lost track of the time.

He forced himself to stop by shoving three spoonfuls of soup into his mouth.

"Wow," Stark said after a pause.

Loki swallowed hard; three spoonfuls had been a bit much. "I had a bad day," he said then, defensive.

"Yeah, I got that. Anything else you want to get off your chest?"

Loki scowled at his soup. "I'm tired."

"Of?"

Reciting the list was simple. "Of serving rude people their dinner when they don't even give proper tips," he said. "I'm tired of always eating canned soup because I can't afford anything else. I am very, very tired of being human."

"Welcome to the club," Stark said dryly. 

"It's not a club I want to be in."

Stark made a humming sound. "Let me buy you a suit."

Loki's hand froze on the way to his mouth. He blinked. "A suit?"

"That's what I said."

"What for?"

"To take you to dinner."

Loki blinked again. Dinner. And a suit. The thought of wearing something different than jeans and thin shirts would be very nice indeed. He wasn't all too fond of jeans, but he had liked the suits he had worn when he had been on Midgard before, although they hadn't been much more than stolen images.

Eating a good meal would be nice, too.

"Fine," he said. "When?"

"Tomorrow?"

"I need to work in the evening."

"I'll pick you up at noon. We can have lunch, too."

He did have good ideas sometimes.

x

As it turned out, when Stark said _buying a suit_ he meant _having one tailored._ That shouldn't have been surprising, but Loki _was_ surprised, because the fact that Stark was willing to spend money on Loki at all was still disconcerting, and that he seemed to want to spend his money only on the very best was… also disconcerting, but also rather satisfying. Loki knew that, even if this was really some kind of courtship, Stark would still expect something in return eventually, but Loki didn't have it in him to be cautious about that. He didn't have anything to lose anymore, anyway.

The tailor had her atelier in a loft that Loki would have liked to live in, if only for the big windows and open rooms; his tiny apartment always made him feel trapped. The tailor itself was an older woman with gray hair and neat eyebrows that arched up as soon as she looked at them for the first time.

Loki knew what he saw. Stark, one of the richest and most popular men in the country, with his hand on the lower back of a man who looked like he was at least a decade younger, and who was wearing baggy jeans and a jacket with sleeves that were just a little bit too short for him. 

She was polite, anyway, and led them to a part of the loft where they could take off their jackets and give their drink orders to a young man who was probably her assistant. Stark ordered scotch for himself and, after Loki had given an indifferent shrug, for him as well. Loki had never had a Midgardian drink before, but he was reminded of Stark's offhand invitation in his tower. Ages seemed to have passed since then.

"She thinks we are having an affair," Loki informed Stark as soon as the assistant had left. "Or that I am a charity case. I'm not sure which is worse."

The worst thing about it was that both was true, in a way, but Loki wasn't about to admit it. 

Stark snorted and sat down on the sole sofa in the room, as relaxed as he could possibly be. "The charity I do is usually a bit on the larger scale. I don’t pick up strays to dress them up in clothes that cost a small fortune.”

“I’m not a _stray.”_

“I didn’t say you were. I’m just telling you that the affair thing is much more likely.” The grin he gave Loki was just as brilliant as the one he’d given to the tailor, but much more sincere. 

To Loki’s surprise, it made something in his stomach shift not uncomfortably. _Attraction._ That was bad, wasn’t it?

“We can go if you’re uncomfortable,” Stark said. 

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Just ignore it, then.”

"I don't care what either of them thinks," Loki said, which was the truth. "What bothers me is that you did nothing to discourage them from thinking it."

The hand on Loki's back. The brilliant smile. _My friend here needs some pretty new clothes. We're going out for dinner._

"If I try to discourage them it'll only get more suspicious.” Stark shrugged, unbothered. “I guess I could’ve called you my nephew or something, but that would be weird. And pointless, everybody knows that I don’t have a family.”

“You have distant relatives in Italy,” Loki said. “Your mother’s side.”

Stark stared at him. “Uh. It’s weird that you know that. How -”

“Barton,” Loki explained. “He told me everything about you. Everything he knew from SHIELD files, anyway.”

“Oh.”

The assistant returned with their drinks and apologized for the wait, saying something about the suddenness of their arrival which Loki might have found rude if Stark hadn’t just waved it off with a smile. He seemed to be used to showing up unannounced and still getting exactly what he wanted - used to getting what he wanted, full stop. Something made Loki’s stomach churn again, but this time it was jealousy, not lust. He’d only been used to not getting what he wanted his whole life.

The assistant asked him to step onto a little stool and then proceeded to take his measurements, which took a ridiculously long time. Loki had expected that; his clothes in Asgard had been custom-made for him as well, naturally. It was dull, but Loki tried to enjoy it, anyway, and maybe that was easier than it should have been for the simple reason that Stark was watching him the entire time, unashamed. He didn’t say anything, he just sat there with the glass of scotch against his lips and his eyes fixed on Loki. If there had still been the possibility of convincing the people here that they were not having an affair, it was gone now. Loki was pretty sure that Stark was ogling his backside whenever Loki was in the right position for him to do so.

Loki didn’t mind.

“He’s a clean slate,“ Stark told the tailor as soon as the assistant was done, his smile bright but distracted, the look in his eyes focused. “So the whole nine yards, please. Two suits, at least one of them a three-piece, I want them done in two weeks. Italian, I think, but bring a few so that he can find out what he likes. Gold’s fine, but apart from that dark colors; he might stab you if you show him anything too pastel. Whatever patterns you think are pretty. A few shirts and ties, shoes too. Bring everything here and then leave us alone, please and thank you.”

Loki raised his brows, but the tailor seemed extraordinarily unimpressed. She simply agreed and then started to shoo her assistant around, and fifteen minutes later, there were two racks with clothes they could choose from - shirts, jackets, pants, waistcoats, all in different cuts, colors and patterns so that Loki could, as Stark had said, find out what he liked. A few boxes with ties and pocket squares on the table in front of the sofa, five pairs of shoes, three folders with all fabric options they had.

Loki carefully picked up his own glass and tried the scotch for the first time. It burned a little, warmed him up from the inside, and Loki assumed that it wouldn’t take much of it to get him drunk. He’d never drunk much in Asgard since it went to his head too easily, and of course his limits were even lower now that he was human. He took another sip, anyway.

Stark watched him, eyes crinkled with amusement. “Overwhelmed?”

“No,” Loki said. He walked over to one of the racks with the glass still in his hand and reached out to touch the first shirt that caught his attention, a black one with a floral print that was only visible when the light hit it just right. It felt light and silky under his fingertips. Loki wanted it. “Not at all. What if I want to have more than two suits?”

“You can have ten if you want.”

Loki looked at him, frowning slightly. “You really mean that.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Why?”

Stark shifted on the sofa, crossing his legs. He was smirking. “I like seeing you like this. Suits you.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You look like I could buy you everything in this room and you still wouldn’t be satisfied.”

“And you like that?” Loki asked, confused despite himself. “Most people would find it insolent.”

“Maybe it’s insolence that suits you, then.”

Loki had to smile. He turned back to the clothes, touched a few more and found that maybe he was a little overwhelmed, after all. “Help me choose, please.”

Stark was on his feet in an instant, and his hand returned to Loki’s back while they looked at the clothes together. 

x

There was a part of the room that was separated from the rest by a curtain, and when they had finally decided on a first outfit to try on, Loki entered the small fitting room and pulled the curtain closed behind himself. It was nice to have a moment to himself, but he didn’t drag it out any longer than necessary. He couldn’t wait to get out of his own clothes, so that was what he did, at record speed.

He was also very interested to see Stark’s reaction.

Loki stepped out from behind the curtain wearing an all black suit and the shirt he had seen earlier. He chose to ignore Stark at first and made his way to the full body mirror, humming contentedly when he saw himself. The fit of the suit wasn’t ideal, but still, much better. He smirked and stroked his fingers over the shirt that felt just as silky as it had before.

“You clean up nicely.”

Loki arched a brow and caught Stark’s gaze in the mirror. “Is that a surprise?”

“No,” Stark said, smiling. “Come here, turn around.”

Loki smirked and turned toward Stark, who had put his glass away and was now coming over to Loki, eyes wandering over Loki’s body. He looked like he wanted to get Loki out of the suit again, and that didn’t have any right to make Loki feel so _good,_ but it did. Warmth was pooling in his stomach without his permission. He cleared his throat.

“I don’t like the stripes,” he said, glancing at his sleeves. “But the fabric itself is nice.”

“We’ll find something without stripes,” Stark said decidedly. He reached out and closed the top button of Loki’s jacket, because naturally he knew no reserve. “All this black suits you.”

“I’m starting to believe that you think everything suits me.”

Stark shrugged. “You’re missing a tie.”

“Choose one, then.”

They held gazes for a moment, then Stark walked back to the sofa table. He came back with a tie very quickly, a black one with a silky shine to it that was similar to the shirt. Stark was still smiling. “Do you wear ties in Asgard?”

“No.”

That was all Stark had needed to hear, apparently. Loki had left the first few buttons of the shirt open, but Stark closed them now. He put up the collar of the shirt, his fingers brushing past Loki’s neck in an almost touch. His eyes were unusually dark.

That wasn’t just attraction, Loki thought. That was desire.

“The suit doesn’t fit you right,” Stark said, his voice low and quiet in a way that made Loki want to lean in and demand more of his touch. As if he knew that, Stark’s smile shifted into a smirk. “Yours will be perfect, though. I can’t wait to see it.”

“Do you think I’ll let you see it?”

“Yeah.” Stark started to bind the tie, his fingers were obviously used to the movements. “Yeah, you’ll let me.”

Loki didn’t deny it. He let Stark tug at the tie and the jacket until they were adjusted to his satisfaction. When he was done, Stark motioned for Loki to turn back to the mirror. He chuckled.

“You’re also missing shoes,” he said.

Loki snorted softly and looked briefly down at his feet. He was only wearing socks. “I’ll try them on later. I want the shirt. And the tie.”

“They’re yours.” Stark put his warm hand on Loki’s back again, letting it wander down his spine. “I’ll get you a tie pin and cufflinks, I think. A bit of gold would be a nice touch.”

Loki grinned. “Oh, I agree.”

“Of course you do,” Stark said, amused. Almost teasing. “Try the plaid one next.”

“I wasn’t fond of the colors.”

Stark waved him off. “We can choose different colors later, I just want to see how the pattern looks on you. I’m sure you can pull it off. Oh, and I want a waistcoat to go with it.”

Loki looked at Stark again, smiling. “You enjoy this.”

“Sure do, sweetcheeks. Now come on, you have a lot more stuff to try on.”

In the end, they ordered three suits and bought several shirts and accessories to go with them, and were told to come back in two weeks for a first fitting trial. Stark seemed more than satisfied, and Loki’s head was swimming from all the attention.

They stopped at the first restaurant they saw to have lunch. Loki was happy to let Stark do most of the talking and found that he enjoyed listening to him in person, too. Stark talked with his hands, vibrant and animating, and his grins were infectious. Loki couldn’t stop watching his hands and thinking about how it had felt when they had touched him, however briefly. Loki had been aware the whole time that Stark was an attractive man, that he was intelligent and charming and interesting, but the more time Loki spent looking at and talking to him, the more fascinating he became. And judging by the way Stark looked at him now, he felt similarly.

It was a surprise, and possibly an unnecessary risk, but when Stark drove him back to the apartment, Loki realized that he didn’t care. He quite enjoyed this game they were playing.

x

The only Midgardian restaurant Loki knew was the one he worked in, and that was a cramped place with five tables that never looked properly clean no matter how often you wiped them down. The food was mediocre, but still edible, and all in all Loki supposed that there were worse places to eat in the city.

This was probably one of the best.

Stark hadn't even needed to introduce himself. As soon as they had entered the restaurant, an impressively polite and considerate waiter had led them through a well lit and elegantly furnished dining room to their table, directly in front of one of the big windows. They could watch the lights of the city illuminating the night. Heads had turned as they had walked past and some people were still peeking at them as if they thought they wouldn't notice, and even though Loki felt a little uncomfortable under their stares, he tried to ignore it as well as he could. Nobody would recognize him; with the nice suit he was wearing and his hair clean and combed back he looked entirely different than the god who had tried to conquer Earth almost a year ago. And if he wanted to go out with Stark more often, which he did, he needed to get used to the stares. Stark attracted as much attention as Thor had on the rare occasion he had managed to drag Loki out of the palace. 

Stark was much better company than Thor, though.

“Do you like it?”

Loki looked at Stark, who had already made himself at home in his chair and looked like he was sitting alone in his living room, not in a five star restaurant full of people who were not so secretly watching and judging his every move.

"It will do," Loki said, and Stark laughed. Feeling oddly reassured by that, Loki admitted, “It's very nice.”

Stark seemed pleased, but he didn't say anything. A different waiter came and asked for their orders, and Stark ordered whatever a chef’s tasting menu was for both of them. Loki raised a brow at Stark when the waiter was gone, not sure if he should mind that Stark had ordered for him or not.

“You wouldn't have known what anything on the menu is, anyway,” Stark told him, smiling.

“You underestimate me.”

“What’re sunchokes?”

Loki frowned.

Stark grinned. “Brioche? Most people know that one.”

Loki’s frown deepened into a scowl.

“Mignonette?”

“I do not like this game,” Loki said. “And I should probably learn French.”

“At least you recognize the language,” Stark said, grinning in a way that made Loki like this game at least a little. “That’s something. Mignonette is a type of sauce, brioche is a pastry, sunchokes are some kind of root thingies you can eat.”

"I see." Loki made a mental note to educate himself about Midgardian food customs, and maybe to actually learn French. The words sounded nice as they rolled off Stark’s tongue.

The waiter came back and brought their drinks, a glass of clear water for both of them and also a bottle of wine. He wanted to pour it into their glasses, but Stark waved him off and grabbed the bottle himself.

Loki watched him pour the wine, first for Loki, then for himself. “And I assume we will be eating them.”

“Yeah, among other things.” Stark put the bottle aside again. “Nine courses of the best they have to offer, together with the matching wines, some supplements. Lots of seafood, I think you’ll like it.”

Loki looked at him, surprised. He remembered a conversation they had when Loki had started to work in the restaurant; he had told Stark that he didn’t particularly like the food they served, and when Stark had asked what he would prefer, Loki had said that he had liked the fish they had caught in the seas surrounding Asgard.

“You remembered,” he said, watching Stark closely.

“Sure.” 

Stark looked away, around the room, and since he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, Loki could see his eyes. He liked it better this way, but he also understood why Stark preferred to hide his eyes in certain situations. They were rather expressive, and sometimes it seemed like Stark couldn’t quite control how much emotion slipped into his gaze. Loki assumed that only half of Stark’s grins actually reached his eyes. He wasn’t grinning now anymore, but he was still smiling, although the line of his shoulders was suddenly a bit tense as if something had made him uncomfortable. It didn’t match his otherwise relaxed posture, and all at once Loki had a thought he liked surprisingly little.

“You don’t like it here,” he said before he could stop himself.

“What?” Stark focused on him again, eyebrows raised. “No, it’s fine. The food’s pretty good.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

Loki looked at him, unimpressed, and after a moment Stark huffed. He still didn’t offer an explanation, though, so Loki said, “If you’re uncomfortable, we can go.”

“I’d be far more uncomfortable if I had to listen to you complain about not having had a proper meal in months,” Stark said, and now his smile stretched a little and made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Sweet of you to worry, though.”

“I am not sweet,” Loki said, “and I do not worry.”

“Right.”

The waiter brought their first course and asked if they desired anything else, which Stark declined. Loki looked down at his plate and decided that he wouldn’t even try to guess what it was. It looked good enough, and it was. Stark watched him with faint amusement and, taking pity on him, he explained what it was. He must have studied the menu before they had come here - had probably chosen it simply because he had thought that Loki would like it. And not only that, he had been _right,_ and that was what made Loki feel warmer than he should have. Nobody had ever really cared about what he liked and disliked - in Asgard he had just needed to ask for what he wanted, as long as he had taken care not to be too greedy or self-indulgent, because that would have meant displeasing Odin, who had had no qualms about letting Thor do whatever he had wanted, but had been very set on making sure that Loki wouldn’t be spoiled.

“Where are you right now?”

Loki blinked and looked at Stark. “Pardon?”

“You just looked like you were a million miles away,” Stark said and took a sip of wine, gaze not straying away from Loki.

“I’m here,” Loki said, annoyed that he had been caught. He didn’t usually let himself get lost in thoughts when other people were around, but then again, he wasn’t really used to being around other people anymore. “This is very good.”

Stark’s smirk told him that he had recognized the distraction for what it was, but he didn’t comment on it. “I’m happy you like it.”

There it was again - Stark was being sincere, and as a result Loki felt even warmer. He really hoped he wasn't blushing. 

"It's much better than what I serve people every night," Loki said, deflecting again.

"I bet." Stark studied him for a moment. "You don't like your job."

"I despise it," Loki clarified. "It's repetitive and dull, and even though I don't have a frame of reference, I'm sure it's ridiculously low paid."

A look of dissatisfaction scurried over Stark's face. "Are you looking for something else?"

"No," Loki said. "Looking for a job is even more tedious than having one." He didn't say that he would have _needed_ to find another, second job without Stark's help; they both knew that. "And besides, I wouldn't know what else to do."

Stark was done with his plate and pushed it away, leaning back in his chair. "Well, what would you want to do? If you had a free choice."

That made Loki pause. His stomach twisted painfully, but thankfully his voice was even when he said, "I would travel to Alfheimr and practice magic."

Stark blinked, and then snorted. "Practice magic? What, like law?"

Loki rolled his eyes. "Elves tend to go to mages when they are facing magical problems. I am -" He stopped. "I was a good mage, so it would be a safe way to earn money."

Stark's dissatisfaction was back, and now it wasn't just a brief impression anymore. His mouth twitched; he was angry. "I'm sorry they took that from you. Your magic, I mean."

Loki frowned at him. "Why?"

"It must be like -" He paused and inclined his head, thinking. "As if someone took my workshop from me. Or not my workshop, but my mind, I guess. I'd go insane if I couldn't invent anymore."

"I've gone insane," Loki said dryly and finished his own plate. "I don't recommend it."

The waiter came and got their plates, but it seemed like Stark barely even noticed. His eyes were fixed on Loki, not angry anymore, just thoughtful.

"What about an earthly job?" he asked. "There are dozens of things you could do other than working in a restaurant."

"And each of them requires going through an application process I wouldn't pass."

"Dozens of things I could get you in," Stark said, correcting himself. 

Loki raised a brow. "Oh?"

Stark shrugged. "SI is a big company, we do all kinds of things, and I've got connections. I could help you find something, or - I don't know, help you find a school? You could study."

"Study," Loki echoed, a bit tiredly. He was good at studying, had barely done anything else in Asgard. "I've heard it's expensive."

Stark gave him an unimpressed look, and Loki almost laughed. A plate was set down in front of him; he hadn't even noticed the waiter approach and quietly reprimanded himself, he wasn't usually so easily distracted.

"You could do law, you know," Stark said, smiling, as he started to eat. "You'd be a terrifying lawyer."

"Terrific, you mean."

"Nope."

This time, Loki did have to laugh. "I'm not sure if I would enjoy it. Lawyers need to stick to rules and laws, don't they?"

"Eh, most are better at bending them."

"I'm not convinced," Loki said. "Any other ideas?"

Stark was still smiling, apparently pleased that they were having this conversation at all. Loki had to admit that it wasn’t so bad, but so far talking to Stark had never been _bad_ in any sense of the word. Talking to him was strangely easy now.

“What are you good at?” Stark asked. “I mean, apart from invasions and dramatic entrances.”

“I’m not particularly good at invasions,” Loki reminded him. “I failed.”

“You failed because you wanted to fail, that’s a difference,” Stark said, and before Loki could even be surprised at all, Stark continued. “Tactics. You’re good at tactics.”

“Are you planning to give me another army?”

“Maybe for Christmas. You’re good at manipulation, too.”

Loki sighed and emptied his glass. “I’ve been told that I am a good liar and manipulator, yes.”

“Loki for president, huh?” Stark said and grinned, showing his teeth. “Yeah, I don’t think so. What else?”

“Words. I am very good with words.”

Stark hummed. “You could be a writer. I bet you’ve got some exciting stories to tell. Or - wait, Odin took that Allspeak thingy from you, right?”

“He did,” Loki said. “But contrary to most Aesir, I went through the trouble of actually learning some languages instead of just relying on Allspeak. Unfortunately, I never paid much attention to Midgardian languages, so here I am stuck with English, and a specific dialect of Norwegian nobody speaks anymore.”

“I’d like to hear it one day,” Stark said. “You could learn other languages, though. Become a translator or something.” He wriggled his eyebrows. “I could teach you.”

“Tempting,” Loki said, his voice a little lower than he’d planned. He was used to Stark flirting with him at least a little, given that Stark seemed to flirt with everything that moved and that their entire situation was some sort of giant flirtation, but Loki wasn’t yet all too accustomed to flirting back. He didn’t want to think about that right now, though, so he added, “How many languages do you speak?”

“Fluently? Five.” In reaction to Loki’s questioning look, Stark listed, “English, obviously. Italian, French, Chinese, Spanish. A bit of German and Russian, although Nat tells me I sound like a drunk five year old.” He paused and looked down at his plate, shoving his foot around with the fork. “I picked up fragments of a lot of languages in Afghanistan, but I couldn’t string them together to a coherent sentence if I tried.”

Afghanistan. Loki knew about that, too, remembered how reluctantly impressed Barton had looked when he had spoken about Stark and his abduction. Stark was obviously waiting for him to say something about it, but Loki didn’t wish to make him uncomfortable.

That realization distracted him from what he meant to say. When had making people uncomfortable stopped being fun? Or was Stark just an exception? No. Loki could imagine teasing him just fine, wondered how much it would take to make Stark actually annoyed with him, or even embarrassed. And the thought of that - Stark squirming in his seat and blushing because of something Loki had said - yes, Loki could imagine that very well, but still, he didn’t want to cross a line. He didn’t want to do or say anything that would keep Stark from wanting to do this again, and not just because Loki wanted to go to a nice restaurant again. It wouldn’t be half as nice without the company.

“Impressive,” he said finally, sounding a little faint. Gods, this was ridiculous.

Stark smirked at him. “You went somewhere else again.”

“I was just thinking.”

“Do you want more wine?”

The wine. Yes, that had to be it. Loki shook his head. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

Stark laughed. “You’re not tipsy already, are you?”

“Thor always said I’m a lightweight.”

Stark just smiled at that. They ate the next two courses in a silence that was surprisingly, comfortably, maddeningly companionable. 

x

Stark drove Loki home. He stopped the car directly in front of the house, and Loki looked at the front door for a moment, reluctant. 

“I’ve got something for you.”

Loki looked at Stark. “Oh?”

Stark leaned over and opened the glovebox, his arm brushing Loki’s knee. He soon dropped a small box in Loki’s lap and then retreated to his own side of the car, although he didn’t stop looking at Loki, amused when Loki didn’t immediately open the box. “Go on, it’s yours.”

Loki couldn’t make himself look at him. This felt a lot more intimate than opening the box with the scarf and calling Stark afterward, even more intimate than trying on one suit after the other, although Stark’s hands had been all over Loki then, adjusting and smoothing out the fabric while he’d stood so close that Loki had been able to smell what had probably been his aftershave. The thought of that made Loki swallow, and then realize that his mouth had gone dry.

He finally opened the box. It was simple and black, and the inside wasn’t much different - surprisingly simple, that was. A pair of golden cufflinks, next to them an equally golden tie pin. Loki had to smile.

“Thank you,” he said. “These are lovely.”

“I think that’s the first time you actually thanked me.”

“Do you mind?”

“No.”

Loki had to look away again. “You should have given them to me earlier. I would have liked to wear them.”

Stark looked more than satisfied. “You can wear them next time.”

Loki hummed and closed the box carefully, then he met Stark’s gaze again. It was dark, and Loki’s eyes weren’t nearly as good as they had been, as he was still used to, but he could make out the amused slant of Stark’s mouth, the almost too warm look in his eyes. 

“You should come upstairs with me,” Loki said.

“Should I?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

So they got out of the car and went upstairs. As soon as Loki closed the door and turned on the light, he asked himself what he was doing, but he chose not to dwell on it for too long. Loki placed the box with the cufflinks on the small side table and looked at Stark, who had stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants - he was wearing a brick red suit that suited him very well, and far too colorful sneakers that made Loki want to touch him so badly that he felt like he couldn’t think straight. This was new, but Loki wasn’t sure if he could blame it on the wine.

“Coffee?” Stark asked hopefully.

“It’s in the middle of the night,” Loki said and approached him. It only took a few steps, then they were so close that Loki could smell Stark’s aftershave again.

Stark didn’t take a step back. “So?”

“I don’t have a coffee machine,” Loki informed him. He put his hands on Stark’s sides, below the suit jacket, and felt the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. Loki hadn’t touched another person in so long that he was desperate for it.

“You don’t have a coffee machine?” Stark repeated incredulously. “What are you, a caveman?”

“I’m poor.”

“I’m buying you a coffee machine.”

“I won’t stop you,” Loki said, and then he leaned in for a kiss, but Stark turned his head to the side. Loki stilled. “You don’t want to?”

Stark hesitated long enough that Loki wanted to take a step back, but Stark grabbed his wrists and stopped him from moving away. A year ago, Loki would have been able to free himself easily, without any effort, but now he was weak enough that Stark could actually have kept him from moving if he had wanted to. For some reason, the thought made arousal flare up in Loki’s stomach, but he swallowed it down - it wasn’t the strength of Stark’s grip that kept him where he was, but the gentleness of it. Stark was being careful with him.

“We can do this,” Stark said, slowly. “Hell, I want to. But if you think, in any way whatsoever, that I _expect_ this of you, then I very much don’t want to, like, at all.”

Loki arched a brow at him. “Do you really think I would whore myself out for more of your money and gifts?”

“I wouldn’t call it that -”

“But that’s what it would be.”

“I’m just saying,” Stark said, rolling his eyes, “that I don’t give you stuff to get in your pants. So don’t feel - I don’t know, obligated.”

“Doing something because of a feeling of obligation would mean doing it without actually wanting to,” Loki said. “And given that I have been forced to do a lot of things I didn’t want recently, I hold the choices I do have very dear. This is one of them."

"You sure?" Stark asked, still hesitant. 

"Yes, quite." Loki dared to move closer again, this time to let his lips ghost over Stark's cheek, enjoying the warmth of his skin. He couldn't stop his hands from holding Stark's sides a little tighter when he heard his breath catch. "You do want to."

"Yes," Stark said, at once. "God. Definitely. Just -"

"You give me nice things because you enjoy giving them to me," Loki cut him off, because he wasn't willing to deny either of them. "I know that, and I'm more than fine with it." He moved his hand under Stark's jacket and put it on his lower back to pull him close. He didn't kiss him, but gods, he wanted to, and their faces were close enough that a kiss was just an inch and a decision away.

He didn't want to be the one to make the decision, though. 

"Please give me this," he said, and he knew immediately that it was the right thing to say.

He didn't have any time to be smug about the success, because Stark's mouth was on his and very effectively kept Loki from thinking about anything at all. It had been too long, _ages_ since he'd last done something like this, but that wasn't what left him breathless and reeling. No, that was all Stark's fault, Stark and the way he pressed himself against Loki and touched him in return, eager and shameless and - and _greedy._

Loki tried to herd Stark in the right direction, but he got distracted two times on the way, once because Stark made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan when Loki's teeth caught on his lower lip, the second time because Stark's hand slid down over Loki's back to his ass. But eventually he did manage to open the bedroom door and push Stark toward the bed. Stark just moved to where Loki maneuvered him, the better part of his attention on getting Loki out of his clothes. The suit jacket fell on the floor, quickly followed by the waistcoat and tie.

"They'll crinkle," Loki complained.

“Let them crinkle,” Stark said, pulling Loki's shirt out of his pants.

“Stark -”

“Tony,” he interrupted. He grabbed Loki's hips to pull him close again. His tone was definite. “Call me Tony.”

“Tony,” Loki complied, and then they were kissing again.

Loki hadn’t done this in a very long time, and he’d never done it with someone whose company he actually enjoyed. That combination made it overwhelming; the closeness got to Loki’s head within seconds. Without breaking the kiss he set about undressing Stark as well, couldn't wait to get his hands on skin instead of fabric. He didn't get farther than opening the buttons of his shirt, then he paused. The blue glow of the device in Stark's chest was impossible to miss now. Loki tapped his fingertip against its surface, expecting Stark to tense up or move away.

To his surprise, Stark just chuckled and began to open Loki's belt. "You think we're going to have any _issues_ again tonight?"

Loki gave him an unimpressed look. "One man out of five issues, you mean?"

"Mh hm."

"It surprises me that you have the audacity to bring that up again."

"It really shouldn’t. I'm a very audacious person." His grin was sharp and dazzling as he slipped his hand into Loki's pants. "No issues tonight, it seems."

"Oh, definitely not," Loki said, breathless and smiling; he was too distracted by the touch to come up with a proper retort, and that was saying something.

He kissed Stark again, gasping into it when Stark pushed Loki's pants down enough that he could stroke him properly. Loki's hips automatically bucked forward into Stark's fist, searching more friction. Stark's hand was calloused but warm, his touch firm and skilled and gods, Loki was already melting.

"What do you want?" Stark asked against Loki's lips, out of breath himself. "Just this, or my mouth? You can fuck me too if you want."

Shameless. Loki swallowed hard and put his hand on Stark's shoulder, squeezing slightly - pushing him downward. "Your mouth."

Stark smiled, the epitome of smugness, and then he sank to his knees and gave Loki his mouth.

Loki came down Stark's throat - faster than he liked to think about -, and then he finished getting Stark out of his clothes and made him lie down on the bed, where Loki proceeded to make him fall apart. Stark reacted just perfectly, all gasped praises and helpless curses, and when Loki watched him come, he decided that this definitely wouldn't be the last time. He needed more of this, and maybe, so he thought when Stark had caught his breath and pulled Loki close again, Stark needed it, too.

Loki couldn't bring himself to move, let alone push Stark out of the bed. He didn't _want_ to push Stark out of the bed. He was warm and solid and real, and his shoulder was a really good place to rest Loki's head on, and all in all Loki was actually comfortable for the first time since Jotunheim.

Stark's hand was in his hair. "I can stay, then?"

And before he could even really think about it, Loki replied, "Of course."

Tony.

  
  
  



End file.
